To Amy Goodman (first letter)

Dear Amy,
I’ve been calling you Amy for years now, haven’t I?  It’s as if we’re old friends.  It saddens me to doubt it but you must know it’s not true.  Then again, how does anyone confirm anything anymore — and who really benefits from a culture of unverifiability?  You act on these questions Amy.  You’re unstoppable, resolute.  I cherish our disjointed encounters, no matter how unreal they may seem, and your remarkable ability to surmount the most awkward and powerful of obstacles.  Your steadfastness pulls me up and dusts me off.
I never seem to know how and when we part ways.  I imagine you tossing a white scarf over your shoulder.  You climb gingerly into the fur-lined cockpit of a beautiful mahogany biplane.  You fly over the setting sun while talking discreetly into a concealed dictaphone.  I can never make out what you’re saying but always manage to enjoy the familiar timbre of your Bay Shore accent.  I’ve wanted to tell you about this forever.  It’s one of the few stories I’ve most certainly made up.
Steven Harper and the International Olympic Committee crash our May Day party and text their friends. Five minutes later a bunch of Tar Sands Pipeline Lobbyists barge in, steal all of the hard liquor and set my modest library on fire.  Rex Murphy pulls out some First Nations treaty documents and tries to use them as rolling papers.  You bravely unplug the stereo and turn on all the lights. Harper’s head is suddenly in your lap.  You stroke his hair carefully (as if he were a feral cat nursing mysterious wounds).   You describe the freedoms we’ve taken for granted, the responsibilities we shirk in our public and private lives, the consequences to come.  You claim dissent as the lifeblood of Society.  You slap every unwanted guest on the ass as they exit.  You posit Democracy as a vital, living process of revelation.  You vow never to leave existing forms of authority unexamined.  I go for another beer, come back and you’re gone.
I know you’re no fool, but your faith still dumbfounds me.  I want this all to be happening Amy.  I need to believe in you. 
Yours truly (and always with great thanks),